


The Final Touch

by filthybonnet



Series: She Will Never Sing [1]
Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Love Never Dies - Lloyd Webber, Love Never Dies - Lloyd Weber RPF, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber RPF
Genre: Automaton, Bodily Fluids, F/M, Inanimate Object Porn, Masturbation, Other, Sexual Content, Vaseline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-11-14 05:33:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18046460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/filthybonnet/pseuds/filthybonnet
Summary: Mr. Y has been busy building his Coney Island empire, but he still cannot escape the memory of his Angel of Music. Using his memory of that fateful night and the talents that have help build his empire, he hopes to bring that memory to life. Well, almost.





	The Final Touch

**Author's Note:**

> This story is based on the 2nd London version of "Love Never Dies" where in opening of "Till I Hear You Sing" there is a Christine Daae automaton in Mr. Y/The Phantom's room, he controls by various touch. You also see her again for a few moments in the scene before "The Beauty Underneath," when The Phantom hides her so Gustave can't see her. Note in the musical it's not a real automaton, it's just played by the Christine actress. 
> 
> I did an excessive amount of research on Vaseline for this fic. I only really needed to find out the date of when it was created/produced for sale but I ended up down the rabbit hole. I learned so much about its packaging, I read a whole paper on the differences on the types of glass bottles it was first sold in. Appreciate these details! 
> 
> This is also a gift to @jennyfair7 for being such a lovely, kind phriend.

He might not have been able to see her that fateful night, but his fingers memorized exactly how her breasts hung once his shaking hands removed her corset, how her nipples were firm yet soft when he pinched them between his fingers and his lips. The soft smooth skin of her stomach, the lightness of her finger tips and the curves of her thighs. Mr. Y could not capture her voice, but his eyes had captured her face. 

That mannequin now destroyed at the bottom of the Opera House was child’s play. The Phantom of the Opera was no more. He was a stranger in a strange land. Madame Giry and Meg did want to give up their identities but for him it was necessary. So Mr. Y it was and here in America he could be larger than life. America was the land of new opportunity and with all that salary The Phantom of the Opera had stored away, Mr. Y found a new group to swindle. 

His Phantasma stage shows were always a hit but when his “The Living Skeleton” automaton show opened, Mr. Y knew was onto something. He sat at his desk meticulously going over his blue prints when there was a knock at his chamber door. He quickly reached for his wig and mask adjusting them as best as he could before getting up and answering the door.

Meg Giry stood there a smile on her face holding a large garment box, “This came for you, Mr. Y. I figured it would be best I bring it up to you.”

“Thank you, Meg,” He gently took the box from her.

“Is it a sample of a new costume?” she asked before he had finished taking the box. “I don’t mean to intrude but I know that store’s logo. I haven’t had my measurements taken in a while and I would hate for the costumer to have just given you my old ones.”

“I apologize for getting your hopes up but this is for another project,” He turned away from her. “Do you not have rehearsal?”

“Yes, for your new piece. Will you come and watch sometime? Our director is fantastic but I know we could really benefit from a lesson or two from you…”

“You know I no longer do that!” Mr. Y spun around, his voice booming off the walls of his apartment. 

A shiver ran down the dancer’s spine and her face twisted in horror. Mr. Y closed his eyes and sighed, “If you wish to improve your voice, I shall find you a competent instructor; but you of all people should know better than to mention such things. Good day, Miss Giry.” 

Mr. Y closed and locked the door even before she had turned away. She sighed before storming down the stairs. He listened till he heard no more and went back to his desk, sitting the box down over the blue prints, “Ah! It is here!” He lifted the lid and exposed a beautiful dress of gold lamé the neck line cut in the controversial Madame X style. 

With a spring in his step, he walked over to a half circle vestibule, spun open the door and turned on the electric light that was in the area. There she stood in all her glory, his masterpiece simply covered in a satin dressing robe he acquired from the ladies’ dressing room. 

“The final touch is here,” He took a clump of her hair into his hand up to his face. He inhaled loud through his nostrils taking in the notes of Tonka bean and vanilla he’d perfumed through the dark, thick curly locks. Just as he remembered. He ran his other hand gently down the soft flesh like material of her cheek. He sighed as he wrapped his hand around to the back of her neck and turned the key.

She raised her head, opened her eyes and raised her arms from her sides. Mr. Y smiled and sighed as he slipped his free hand into one of hers and she responded instantly by squeezing his. He pushed his face into her hair and inhaled again. She turned and looked at him.

“Ah…Christine,” He whispered into her neck. “Let’s see how beautiful you look in your dress.” He let go of her locks and skimmed the tips of his fingers down the soft material of her neck and décolletage until he reached the tie of the robe. His hand started shaking as he undid the bow and the robe fell open. 

Mr. Y placed his still shaking hand on her taut stomach. He slowly ran it up the body stopping at the cusp of her breast. He closed his eyes and sighed. _That night, oh that night so long ago. Why did she come back to me and give me the joys of the flesh? Why was I a coward and left her behind?_

She raised her other hand and placed it on top of his, guiding it up on her breast. Full, tender and yielded to his fingers; almost perfect. He leaned his head on her shoulder breathing in the Tonka bean and vanilla, kneading the breast oh so slightly. He closed his fingers tighter around the hand he held and his loins stirred.

His eyes opened. _Curse the pleasures of the flesh that drove me to this! Drove me to these advances!_ He let go of her and closed the vestibule door before opening the one of the other side; the door the led into his bed chamber. Mr. Y turned the key on the back of her neck again before walking over to the bed. He did not turn on any lights in this room, relying only on the natural light coming through the windows. 

“Ah Christine…my Christine…” Mr. Y sighed as he watched her walk from the vestibule to in front of him. He leaned over and kissed her lips. Oh how life like! “You have seen and felt me whole, no hiding.” He removed his wig and mask sitting them down onto the nightstand. His lips brushed her cheeks as he lightly squeezed both her hands. She lifted her arms up to her shoulders, pushing her delicate fingers under the satin of the robe, nudging it down until it fluttered to the floor.  
Mr. Y swiftly discarded his waistcoat and unbuttoned his shirt halfway as he observed his handy work. He placed his hands on her décolletage, spreading his fingers wide as they descended down over her breasts pinching those firm nipples. His breath hitched as his went further down and rediscovered the point of no return.

“Yes, yes Christine…” again he leaned into her hair. Tears built up in his eyes. His slacks grew more restrictive. Right outside of that point he found a little button and pushed it. She raised her hand and caressed his cheek while the other moved to the front of slacks and rubbed them. “Ahhh…” He kissed her neck. “Ahhh…Christine I love you.” He pushed the hidden button again and she took a few steps away before walking back around facing away from the bed.

“It will be like our first time again,” A firm arm around her shoulders and the other around her waist he helped her into a laying position on the bed. Mr. Y sat down on the bed and kicked off his shoes without unlacing them, before opening the drawer of his night stand. His shaking hand removed a small glass jar of petroleum jelly Vaseline. He pulled the cork out and sat that on top of the night stand next to his mask and wig. With his empty hand he slowly unbuttoned his trousers and his semi-erect organ sprung out. He pulled at his foreskin with his first two fingers and his thumb gently guiding out more Cowper's fluid. He moaned, his eyes closing, as he rubbed the tip with the fluid bringing himself to complete arousal. 

Slowly his eyes opened and he removed his hand from himself dipping the tips of his fingers into the Vaseline jar collecting some. The jelly was cool but the effect was quickly lost as he spread down the shaft of his aching member. “This will help…at least it always does when I pleasure myself,” Mr. Y popped the cork back into the jar before sitting it back on the night stand. 

“Just like our first time again, Christine,” he whispered as he mounted her. His hand holding the base of his shaft, he pushed himself fully into the hole between her thighs he purposefully constructed. It was just the perfect size and lined with the same soft flesh like material that made up her body. The embarrassment he felt as he carved the hole during construction melted as he pushed in and out of it.

She bent her arm up and her hand touched his head, her fingers running through the wisps of his grey hair. The squishing sound of the petroleum jelly was louder than the visceral vocalizations that escaped Mr. Y’s mouth as he pumped faster. Completely all the way in, his thrusting paused yet his whole body quaked as he went over the edge of his paroxysm. He closed his eyes and saw nothing but light as he screamed. As he withdrew, his seed trickled out of the hole and mixed with the Vaseline, puddling onto the bed. He curled up next to her.

“You were wonderful, Christine,” He whispered, breathless, burying his face once again in her hair. “Just wonderful. Thank you for so much pleasure.” He caressed her cheek. He stayed there until his breathing returned to normal, a smile on his deformed face. 

When he sat up, he looked down to adjust himself only to discover a wet spot on the front of his trousers. “Damn…damn…damn!” He exclaimed frantically rubbing at it with his thumb. Mr. Y shamefully tucked himself back into his drawers before removing his slacks. “Why didn’t I undress?” He threw the pants onto the bed, they landed next to her. He turned around to see the wrinkled ruined slacks and then looked over to see her spread the puddle on the sheets, some fluid mixture glistening inside the hole. 

Faced with the reality of what he had really done, Mr. Y took his flushed face into his hands and sank to his knees on the floor. His shoulders heaved as he cried. “Oh my Christine, I am so sorry! Please forgive me…I am just a man…just a man…”


End file.
